Chapter 73: Patricia VS Malcolm
The morning light cut through the curtains like a blade, and Patricia was already awake.
She hadn't slept well. The news of Nicola's battle with Malcolm had spread through their group like wildfire, and the details—the Eclipse Squad, the three-on-three loss, the way Nicola had shut herself off afterward—had left a knot in Patricia's stomach that refused to untangle.
Briv had told her everything.
Not everything, she corrected herself. He had told her what he knew. What Nicola had chosen to share.
There was more. There was always more with Nicola.
Patricia sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist. Briv was still asleep beside her, his breathing slow and even, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake. She watched him for a moment—the way his brown hair fell across his forehead, the faint stubble on his jaw, the small scar on his chin from a training accident years ago.
She loved him.
She loved him so much it ached sometimes.
But she also knew he was keeping something from her. Something about Nicola. Something about what had happened after the battle.
She didn't press.
She trusted him.
But she wasn't stupid.
---
She dressed quietly and slipped out of the room.
The inn was still quiet, the corridors empty, the smell of fresh bread drifting up from the kitchen below. She made her way to the training grounds on the outskirts of Aethelburg, where the morning mist still clung to the grass and the crystal towers cast long shadows across the dirt.
She wasn't surprised to find Malcolm Vane already there.
He stood at the center of the field, his arms crossed, his shaved head catching the pale light. Machamp stood beside him, the massive Fighting-type flexing its four arms with slow, deliberate movements. Haunter hovered nearby, its grin wide and wicked, its eyes glowing red in the mist.
Malcolm turned as she approached.
"Patricia Crownleaf," he said.
His voice was smooth, almost pleasant. Like honey poured over broken glass.
"You're Nicola's friend."
"I'm her friend," Patricia said. "And I'm not here to chat."
"Then why are you here?"
"You beat her."
"I did."
"You humiliated her."
"I won a Pokémon battle. Nothing more, nothing less."
Patricia's jaw tightened.
"You know what you did."
Malcolm tilted his head.
"Do I?"
She stepped forward, her hand moving to the Pokéballs at her belt.
"I'm challenging you. Three-on-three. Same rules as Nicola's battle."
Malcolm's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
"Nicola said the same thing to me. Word for word."
"I'm not Nicola."
"No. You're not."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out three Pokéballs.
"Fine. Three-on-three. No substitutions. No items."
---
The sound of footsteps made them both turn.
Axel approached from the direction of the city, Rotom flickering at his shoulder like a captured star. He moved with the same predatory ease Patricia had come to recognize, his green eyes sharp and calculating.
"I heard there was a challenge," he said.
"Word travels fast," Malcolm replied.
"Small city."
"Big ears."
Axel's expression didn't change.
"I'll referee."
Malcolm shrugged.
"Fine by me."
Axel looked at Patricia.
"Are you sure about this?"
She nodded.
"I'm sure."
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then stepped back.
"Standard rules. Three-on-three. No substitutions. No items. Send out your first Pokémon."
---
Patricia moved first.
"Cranidos."
The ball opened in a flash of blue light and Cranidos materialized on the field. The little Rock-type was a compact battering ram of muscle and bone, its thick skull gleaming, its stance planted firmly. It pawed at the ground, snorting, eager for battle.
Malcolm's eyes flickered with interest.
"Machamp."
The ball opened in a flash of crimson light and Machamp materialized on the field. The massive Fighting-type towered over Cranidos, its four arms flexing, its gray muscles rippling. Its face was stoic, almost bored, but its eyes burned with quiet ferocity.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Patricia moved first.
"Cranidos—Headbutt!"
Cranidos surged forward, its body a battering ram aimed at Machamp's legs.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp swung one of its four arms, the edge of its hand glowing white.
The attack caught Cranidos mid-charge.
Cranidos veered off course, skidding across the dirt.
"Now—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed in front of its chest, and a wave of focused energy rippled through its body. Then it struck.
All four arms slammed down simultaneously.
Cranidos had no time to dodge.
The attack shattered the ground beneath it, sending a shockwave that knocked dust into the air.
Cranidos skidded backward, its armor dented, its eyes dazed.
But it didn't fall.
"Cranidos—Zen Headbutt!"
Cranidos's skull glowed with psychic energy, and it lunged forward again.
The attack struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp grunted.
It actually felt that.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Another barrage.
Another impact.
Cranidos cried out, a sharp sound of pain and determination.
But it didn't fall.
"Now—Rock Slide!"
Cranidos slammed its head into the ground, and a barrage of rocks erupted from the earth.
They struck Machamp's legs, its torso, its arms.
Machamp staggered.
"Machamp—Earthquake!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the ground.
The earth shook.
Cranidos lost its footing.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Another devastating strike.
Cranidos collapsed.
"Cranidos is unable to battle," Axel said. "Machamp wins."
---
Patricia recalled Cranidos.
She whispered to the ball before clipping it to her belt.
"You were perfect."
She looked at Malcolm.
His expression hadn't changed.
"Roselia," she said.
Roselia materialized in a flash of green light, its body small and elegant, its leafy cape rustling in the breeze. The red and blue roses at its hands gleamed with a faint, toxic sheen.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Malcolm moved first.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the ground, and a barrage of rocks erupted from the earth.
"Roselia—Magical Leaf!"
Roselia's roses glowed, and a storm of glowing leaves shot forward.
They struck the rocks, shattering them into dust.
But Machamp was already moving.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp lunged forward, its four arms swinging in perfect coordination.
"Roselia—Protect!"
A shimmering barrier formed around Roselia.
The Karate Chop struck the barrier.
Roselia's body glowed faintly, and a wave of energy rippled outward. The barrier shattered, but Roselia was already moving.
"Roselia—Toxic!"
Roselia's roses glowed, and a stream of purple venom shot forward.
It struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp grunted.
But it didn't fall.
"Roselia—Venoshock!"
Roselia's body glowed, and a wave of purple energy shot forward.
The attack struck Machamp's poisoned body.
Machamp roared.
It staggered.
It didn't fall.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed, and it struck.
Roselia tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Roselia's body.
Roselia cried out and plummeted, hitting the ground hard.
But it didn't faint.
"Roselia—Giga Drain!"
Roselia's body glowed, and green energy shot from Machamp's body to Roselia's.
Machamp grunted.
It was weakening.
Slowly, but surely.
But it didn't fall.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp's fist slammed into Roselia's body.
Roselia collapsed.
"Roselia is unable to battle," Axel said. "Machamp wins."
---
Patricia recalled Roselia.
Her hand trembled.
Two down.
One left.
She looked at Buizel.
Buizel materialized in a flash of orange light, its twin tails swishing, its yellow flotation sac catching the light. It was sleek, energetic, and ready.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Malcolm moved first.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the ground, and a barrage of rocks erupted from the earth.
"Buizel—Aqua Jet!"
Buizel shot forward like a torpedo, its body encased in water.
It smashed through the rocks and struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp staggered.
"Buizel—Water Gun!"
Buizel opened its mouth and fired a stream of water.
It struck Machamp's face.
Machamp roared.
"Machamp—Earthquake!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the ground.
The earth shook.
Buizel lost its footing.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed, and it struck.
Buizel tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Buizel's side.
Buizel cried out and tumbled across the dirt.
But it didn't fall.
"Buizel—Aqua Tail!"
Buizel's tails glowed with water energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Machamp's legs.
Machamp stumbled.
"Buizel—Swift!"
Buizel opened its mouth and fired a barrage of star-shaped rays.
They struck Machamp's body.
Machamp grunted.
It was weakening.
Slowly, but surely.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp's fist slammed into Buizel's body.
Buizel cried out.
But it didn't fall.
"Buizel—Aqua Jet!"
Buizel shot forward like a torpedo.
The attack struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp groaned.
It fell.
"Machamp is unable to battle," Axel said. "Buizel wins."
---
Malcolm recalled Machamp.
He didn't look frustrated.
He looked interested.
"Impressive," he said. "But that was my weakest."
He drew his second ball.
"Haunter."
The ball opened in a flash of violet light and Haunter materialized on the field. The ghostly Pokémon hovered in the air, its body a floating head and hands, its eyes glowing red, its grin wide and wicked. It cackled softly, a sound like bones rattling in a dark room.
Buizel couldn't hit it.
Ghost types were immune to Normal and Fighting moves.
But Buizel had Water and Dark moves.
"Buizel—Aqua Jet!"
Buizel shot forward.
It passed through Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled.
It phased through the ground.
"Buizel—Water Gun!"
Buizel fired a stream of water.
It passed through Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled again.
"Haunter—Shadow Ball!"
A sphere of dark energy formed between Haunter's hands and shot forward.
It struck Buizel's body.
Buizel grunted.
"Haunter—Lick!"
Haunter materialized behind Buizel and ran its tongue across Buizel's neck.
Buizel shuddered.
"Buizel—Pursuit!"
Buizel's body glowed dark, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter shrieked.
It actually felt that.
"Haunter—Night Shade!"
A wave of dark energy.
Buizel took the hit.
It grunted.
"Haunter—Shadow Punch!"
Haunter's fist glowed with dark energy and struck Buizel's side.
Buizel staggered.
"Buizel—Aqua Tail!"
Buizel's tails glowed with water energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack passed through Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled.
"Haunter—Dream Eater!"
Buizel was weakening.
Its movements slowed.
Its eyes drooped.
"Buizel—Aqua Jet!"
Buizel shot forward one last time.
The attack passed through Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled.
"Haunter—Shadow Ball!"
Another sphere of dark energy.
Another hit.
Buizel collapsed.
"Buizel is unable to battle," Axel said. "Haunter wins. Malcolm wins the match."
---
The field was silent.
Patricia recalled Buizel, her hands steady despite the loss.
She had lost.
Fairly.
Completely.
Malcolm recalled Haunter and walked toward her.
"You're good," he said.
"I know."
"You're also a piece of shit."
He smiled.
"Maybe. But I'm a piece of shit who won."
He extended his hand.
She didn't take it.
"Tell your commander I'm not impressed," she said.
Malcolm's smile widened.
"I'll tell him."
He turned and walked away.
---
Axel approached Patricia.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer.
"He was stronger than me."
"He was stronger than you today," Axel corrected. "Tomorrow is a different story."
She looked at him.
"You sound like Briv."
"Maybe he's rubbing off on me."
She didn't laugh.
Neither did he.
"We need to find out where they're staying," she said. "Before they hurt someone else."
"I'm already on it."
She nodded.
"Then let's move."
---
The two Eclipse Squad members stood on the rooftop across from the compound, watching the battle below.
Roger cracked his knuckles.
"Malcolm's taking his time again."
"He likes to play with his food," Callum said. "Always has."
Roger spat over the edge of the roof.
"Patricia's good. Better than I remember."
"She's still a thorn. A big one."
"Yeah." Roger grinned. "But thorns burn."
Callum pulled out a lighter and flicked it open.
"They do," he said. "They really do."
The flame danced in the wind.
---
Patricia walked back to the inn alone.
The streets of Aethelburg were quiet, the crystal towers catching the last light of the dying sun. She didn't notice any of it.
She replayed every command she'd given, every move she'd made. Cranidos had fallen too quickly. Roselia had landed solid hits but couldn't finish. Buizel had overwhelmed Machamp but couldn't touch Haunter.
Three Pokémon.
Three losses.
She had been outmaneuvered, outplayed, outclassed.
The realization burned like acid in her throat.
She wasn't used to losing.
She wasn't used to being second.
---
She climbed the stairs to her room, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. Buneary hopped onto her lap, its big round eyes radiating warmth and gentle intelligence.
She stroked its fur.
It didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
---
The knock came an hour later.
Three sharp raps.
Patricia didn't move.
The knock came again.
She stood, crossed the room, and opened the door.
Briv stood in the hallway.
He had changed clothes—his training gear replaced by a simple shirt and jeans. His brown hair was messy, his brown eyes soft with concern.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"You look like hell."
"Thanks."
He studied her face.
"You lost."
"I know."
"Malcolm?"
"Yeah."
He was quiet for a moment.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay."
He stepped inside.
She closed the door.
---
They sat on the bed.
Buneary hopped onto Briv's lap, and he stroked its ears.
"I heard about Nicola's battle," Patricia said.
"Yeah."
"And what happened after."
Briv's hand paused.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
He didn't answer.
She looked at him.
"Briv."
"I don't know what happened," he said. "Not for sure."
"But you know something."
He sighed.
"I know Malcolm went to her room."
Patricia's jaw tightened.
"And?"
"And I don't know what happened after that. She won't talk about it."
She was quiet for a long moment.
"She's my friend."
"I know."
"And he hurt her."
"I know."
Patricia stood.
"I'm going to find him."
"Patricia—"
"He can't just—"
"Patricia."
She stopped.
Briv stood and crossed the room.
"You can't fix this by fighting him again. You already did that. He won."
She flinched.
"I know."
"You fought for her. That matters."
"It doesn't feel like it."
He reached out and took her hand.
"It matters."
She looked at him.
"I hate losing."
"I know."
"I hate him."
"I know."
She leaned into him.
He held her.
---
They stood there for a long time.
The city hummed beyond the window.
The Eclipse Squad was out there, somewhere, moving through the shadows like wolves on the hunt.
Patricia didn't sleep that night.
She planned.
And when the sun rose, she would be ready.
=====
And when the sun rose, she would be ready.
But the sun didn't rise for hours yet, and Patricia's body refused to settle into sleep. She lay beside Briv, listening to his breathing, counting the seconds between his exhales. Her mind was a churn of images, each one worse than the last.
Nicola's face after the battle.
The way she had looked through her, hollow-eyed and distant.
The rumors that had circulated through the Pokémon Center by nightfall—whispers of Malcolm Vane from the Eclipse Squad visiting Nicola's room, staying for hours, leaving near midnight.
Patricia pieced together what she hadn't been told.
She was smart. She always had been.
And that's why the rage came slow, deliberate, building like a storm surge behind a dam. She didn't wake Briv. She didn't need to. She slipped out of bed, dressed in the dark, and left the inn before the first threads of light touched the horizon.
She found him at the Aethelburg docks.
Malcolm Vane stood at the edge of the canal, watching the dark water ripple under the street lamps. He didn't turn when she approached. He didn't need to.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said.
"You knew I would."
"Your type always does."
She stopped ten feet from him. Her hand drifted to her belt, where six Pokémon waited in their balls.
"That's not why I'm here."
"No?"
"You know what you did."
Malcolm turned.
His scar caught the lamplight, the thin line running from temple to jaw like a seam on cracked porcelain. His eyes were flat, unreadable, the color of wet slate.
"You'll have to be more specific."
"Nicola."
"Ah." He smiled. "The strategist."
"You went to her room."
"I did."
"You hurt her."
"Did I?"
Patricia's hand tightened into a fist.
"Don't play games with me."
He stepped closer.
"Do you want the truth, or the version you've already decided on?"
She didn't answer.
"Because the truth is simple enough," Malcolm said. "I won the battle. She paid the price. That's how it works."
"That's not how anything works."
"It's how I work."
She moved before she thought. Her fist connected with his jaw, a sharp crack that sent him stumbling half a step back. He touched his lip, found blood, and smiled.
"Feel better?"
"No."
"Good. You shouldn't."
She hit him again. This time he caught her wrist.
His grip was iron. He pulled her close, close enough that she could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint trace of saltwater and city smoke on his skin.
"Do you want to know what she said after?" he murmured.
Patricia's breath caught.
"She said my name. Not yours. Not Briv's. Mine."
"Let go of me."
"I don't think so."
She tried to pull back. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold.
"You came here looking for a fight," he said. "But that's not really what you want."
"You don't know what I want."
"I know exactly what you want."
He released her wrist. Stepped back. His eyes never left hers.
"I'll make you a deal," he said. "You want to hurt me. I understand that. But you won't—not physically. You're not a fighter, Patricia. You're a strategist. Like Nicola."
"Don't compare me to her."
"No. You're better. She lost control. You won't."
She hated how calm he was.
Hated that he was right.
"What's your deal?" she asked.
"One night. You give me one night. Whatever I want. And I'll give you the information your group has been chasing. Where the Eclipse Squad is based. How many members we have. Who's in charge."
Her blood went cold.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Why would you betray your own organization?"
Malcolm's smile widened.
"Because loyalty is a cage, and I've been in it long enough."
She stared at him.
"You're serious."
"I'm always serious."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I walk away. You learn nothing. Your friends stay in the dark. And someone else gets hurt."
Patricia's jaw tightened.
"So I just—"
"You give yourself to me. One night. And then I give you everything."
She should have said no.
She should have walked away, gone back to Briv, told him about the deal, found another way. That's what a strategist would do. That's what Nicola would have done.
But Nicola hadn't done that.
Nicola had paid the price.
And Patricia was starting to understand why.
"Fine," she said.
Malcolm's eyes flickered with something she couldn't name.
"Follow me."
---
His hotel was near the canal, a narrow building wedged between two old warehouses. The room was small—a bed, a chair, a window overlooking the water. No personal effects. No signs anyone had ever lived here.
He locked the door behind her.
She stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the canal lights ripple in the dark.
"You don't have to look like a martyr," he said.
"I'm not."
"You are."
He crossed the room and stopped beside her.
"You think you're doing this for her. For your friends. For morality."
"I am."
"You're doing this because you're angry. You're angry at Malcolm the villain, and that's fine—God knows I play the part well. But more than that, you're angry at yourself because you didn't see it coming. Because you thought you could protect her and you couldn't."
Patricia's throat tightened.
"Shut up."
"See? That's the truth you don't want to hear."
She turned and slapped him.
His head barely moved.
"I'll tell you another truth," he said. "You're the most dangerous of the three of you, Patricia. Not because you're the strongest—you're not. Not because you're the smartest—maybe. But because you're the one who loves hardest. And love, when it turns, is the most destructive force in the world."
She stared at him.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you'll do this. And you'll hate yourself for it. And then you'll use that hate to do something terrible."
He reached out and tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear.
"So am I really the villain here?"
She didn't answer.
"Take off your clothes," he said.
---
She undressed slowly, methodically, not meeting his eyes.
Her shirt fell first, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, pale and full. Her jeans followed, sliding down her narrow waist and over her round hips. She stepped out of them and stood in nothing but her underwear—simple black cotton, nothing seductive, nothing planned.
Malcolm watched without expression.
"All of it," he said.
She unhooked her bra and let it drop. Her breasts spilled free, soft and round, her nipples hardening in the cool air. She slid her underwear down, exposing the small triangle of blond curls between her thighs.
She stood before him naked.
Vulnerable.
Furious.
"Come here," he said.
She didn't move.
He crossed the room, closed the distance, and grabbed her by the waist. His mouth crashed into hers with a force that made her gasp. She didn't kiss him back—not at first—but she didn't pull away either.
His hands slid down her body, rough and possessive. He grabbed her ass with both hands—the big, round globe of flesh that she knew drew eyes wherever she went—and squeezed hard enough to leave marks.
She moaned against his mouth.
He walked her backward to the bed and pushed her onto the mattress.
She landed on her back, her hair fanning across the pillow, her body flush with color.
"Now," he said. "You're going to do exactly what I say."
"Or what?"
He grabbed her legs and yanked her to the edge of the bed.
His mouth found her cunt.
---
She wasn't expecting it.
He ate her out with a ferocity that stripped away every layer of thought. His tongue lapped at her folds, rough and greedy, his teeth grazing her clit just enough to make her hips jerk off the mattress.
"What the fuck—"
He buried two fingers inside her without warning.
She screamed.
He bit her clit.
She came.
The orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, her thighs clamping around his head, her cunt clenching hard around his fingers. He didn't stop. He kept licking, kept fingering, drawing out every wave until she was gasping for air.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You taste like guilt," he said.
She wanted to slap him again.
She couldn't move.
"You're dripping," he said. "Your cunt is soaked. You can pretend all you want, but your body knows what it wants."
He stood and unbuckled his belt.
His cock sprang free—long, thick, veined, the head already shiny with pre-cum. He stroked it once, twice, watching her.
"Turn over."
She didn't.
He grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach.
She landed with a grunt, her ass in the air, her face pressed into the pillow.
"Now you can pretend it's someone else," he said. "Though we both know you won't."
He drove into her with one brutal thrust.
---
Patricia screamed into the pillow.
He was thick—thicker than Briv, thicker than anyone she'd had before. The stretch burned, delicious and overwhelming, and her cunt gripped him like a fist.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You're tight."
She couldn't answer.
He pulled back and slammed into her again.
The headboard smacked the wall.
Her hands clawed at the sheets.
He fucked her with a deliberate rhythm, each stroke hitting something deep and wrecked. She tried to match his pace, but he was relentless, his hips slapping against her ass with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room.
"How does it feel," he asked, "to be fucked by the man your friend hates?"
She didn't answer.
He slapped her ass.
She yelped.
"Tell me."
"Fuck you."
He slapped her other cheek.
She moaned.
"You like that," he said. "Don't you?"
"No."
He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.
"Don't lie."
His hips never stopped moving.
"I said. You. Like. That."
She came again.
The orgasm caught her off guard, tearing a scream from her throat, her body convulsing around his cock. He didn't slow down. He fucked her through it, riding her climax like a wave.
"That's it," he said. "Fucking take it."
---
He pulled out before he came.
She collapsed onto the mattress, chest heaving, cunt aching, thighs slick.
"On your knees."
She pushed herself up, knees weak, and turned to face him. His cock glistened with her arousal, the taste of her still on his lips.
"Suck it," he said.
She hesitated.
He grabbed her jaw.
"I said. Suck it."
She opened her mouth.
He pushed his cock inside.
---
The taste was salt and musk and herself. She gagged when he hit the back of her throat, but he didn't pull back. He held her head, fingers tangled in her blond hair, and fucked her mouth with the same rhythm he'd used on her cunt.
"Look at me," he said.
She looked up.
Tears streaked her cheeks, but her eyes were still furious.
Still defiant.
He pulled out and slapped his cock against her tongue.
"You're beautiful when you're angry."
She bit the head.
He laughed.
"Careful."
She grabbed the base of his cock and stroked it roughly, smearing her spit and arousal. He groaned, his eyes closing for the first time.
"Do you want me to come down your throat?" he asked.
"Absolutely not."
"Too bad."
He pulled her mouth back onto his cock and fucked it harder. She gagged again, fingernails digging into his thigh, but he didn't stop.
"Swallow it," he said. "Every drop."
He came.
---
She swallowed.
The taste flooded her mouth—salty, bitter, thick. She swallowed twice and licked him clean before he pulled out. He stepped back, breathing hard, his cock still half-hard against his thigh.
She sat on the bed, her body wrecked, her cunt leaking his saliva, her mouth sticky with his release.
Malcolm crossed the room and opened a drawer.
He pulled out a small device—a data chip, black with a red Eclipse Squad emblem.
"Here," he said.
She took it.
"Everything's on there. Safe houses. Members. Names. Operations."
She looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because you earned it."
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to hit him again.
She did neither.
"Take a shower," he said. "You can use the one down the hall."
She stood.
She walked to the door.
She stopped.
"When you saw Nicola," she said. "Did you give her anything?"
Malcolm's expression didn't change.
"I gave her what she needed."
"And what was that?"
"Clarity."
Patricia's hand tightened on the chip.
"You're still a piece of shit."
"I know."
She walked out.
---
She showered in the communal bathroom down the hall, scrubbing herself raw under the hot water. She washed Malcolm off her body, out of her hair, from between her thighs.
She didn't wash him out of her mind.
She dressed in the hallway, pulled her hair back, and walked out into the dawn.
The sky was silver and pale, the crystal towers of Aethelburg catching the first light of morning. She found Briv waiting at the corner of the street, his arms crossed, his face pale with worry.
"You followed me," she said.
"You didn't come back."
"I had to do something."
He looked at her.
"Your neck."
She touched it.
Found the bruise.
"I'm okay," she said.
"Patricia—"
"I found out where they're based. I know who runs it. I know how many."
Briv stared at her.
"What did you do?"
She didn't answer.
"Patricia."
"I can't tell you right now."
"Why?"
"Because I can't."
She walked past him.
He caught her arm.
She turned.
Her eyes were wet.
"Don't ask me," she said. "Not yet. Please."
He let her go.
---
They walked back to the inn in silence.
The city was waking up around them—shopkeepers opening shutters, trainers heading to the gyms, Pokémon stretching their wings in the morning light.
Patricia felt none of it.
She had the chip.
She had the information.
She had done what needed to be done.
And she knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing would ever be the same.
---
She found Nicola in the training yard, Shieldon at her side, Staravia preening on a fence post nearby.
Nicola looked up.
Her eyes widened.
"Patricia."
Patricia stopped.
The two women stared at each other.
A long moment passed.
Then Patricia reached into her pocket and pulled out the chip.
"Malcolm gave me this."
Nicola's face went pale.
"Patricia, what did you do?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters."
"No." Patricia stepped forward and pressed the chip into Nicola's hand. "It doesn't. What matters is what you find on there. What matters is stopping them."
Nicola looked at the chip.
Then at Patricia.
Her jaw tightened.
Her eyes hardened.
"I'm going to kill him," she said.
"Get in line."
They stood there, two women who had paid the same price, carrying the same weight.
The sun rose higher.
The city hummed.
And somewhere across the canal, Malcolm Vane packed his bag and slipped out of Aethelburg, another city, another victory, another scar.